"No; only the chambermaid."
Mr. Weil sipped his coffee with a wise expression.
"It may come to that," he said, putting down the cup, "but we'll hope not. We will hope not. What's the matter with Central Park? There are five hundred nice girls there every afternoon."
"But I don't know them," said Roseleaf, desperately. "And—I have been there. Yesterday one of them looked at me and smiled. I walked toward her, and she slackened her speed. When I came within a few feet she almost stopped. Then—I could think of nothing to say to her, and I walked on, looking in the other direction."
Several breakfasters in the vicinity turned their heads to note the couple at the table, from which a laugh that could be heard all over the room came musically.
"Why didn't you say 'Good-morning?'"
"Yes! And she might have said 'Good-morning.' And then it would be my turn, and what could I have done?"
Mr. Weil folded up his napkin and laid it by his plate.
"You coward," he replied, affably, "you could have done a thousand things. You could have remarked that the day was fair, or that you wondered if it would rain. And you could have asked her to stroll over to a restaurant and take a little refreshment. Once opposite to her, the rest would have come fast enough."
The novelist took out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It all seemed very easy the way Archie described it, but he was sure it would be very different in practice. How could he know, he demanded, that the young lady would go to the restaurant with him? She might have declined, and then he would have been in a worse position than ever.